


The Dark Beside You

by Rubynye



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: F/M, Fucking Machines, Mirror Universe, Multi, Non Consensual, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty tests out his beastie on the wrong ensign. Written <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/issenterprise/72138.html?thread=868554#t868554">for this prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark Beside You

  
Title: The Dark Beside You  
Fandom: Star Trek XI  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Joanna McCoy/Tentacles, Scotty/Tentacles, Joanna/Scotty by proxy  
Summary: Scotty tests out his beastie on the wrong ensign. Written [for this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/issenterprise/72138.html?thread=868554#t868554).  
Content Advisory: Non-consensual, tentacles, Mirrorverse, violence, and other fun stuff.  
All Thanks To: [](http://spikeface.livejournal.com/profile)[**spikeface**](http://spikeface.livejournal.com/) for the [Iss Tentacle Kink Meme](http://community.livejournal.com/issenterprise/72138.html)!  
_Disclaimer:_ None of these characters or their settings belong to me.  
Title from "Johanna", _Sweeney Todd_

  
Monty'd slap himself on the back if he could, but he settles for cheering. He's finally, finally made his metallic beastie work, and the latest ensign is twisting and thrashing and screaming just so sweetly, her long brown hair flying all over with each toss of her head, her sleek young back arching and pointy little breasts bobbing with each thrust, perfect red circles polkadotting her fair flushed skin.

Finally he has a pet that most Imperial officers could only dream of, all shiny flexisteel tentacles, self-lubricating with retractable Reflexene suckers for that authentic hickeying experience. It's perfectly strong and controlled enough, pulling this lassie's limbs wide without snapping any from their sockets, and flexible and resilient as any living creature could be. Best of all, better than living, it'll never tire as long as he keeps it powered, never let up or say a subject doesn't taste right. It's been going three full hours now, twining all over her and correcting for every twist and jerk of her willowy body, trading off the tentacles fucking her so the speed and rhythm varies and she can't get bored. It's all working beautifully, from the algorithms to the lube synthesizer.

And doesn't it just look pretty, silver and gleaming with a thrashing pink girl in its grip, sliding slick and shiny in and out of her tender pink holes. Monty's well impressed with her, too, still keeping up after three full hours of his beastie's attentions. Most of the other ensigns and crew he's tested it on had gone catatonic by two hours, but she's still bucking and kicking and even keeps calming herself down like she thinks she can figure a way out.

Of course, when she sobs and whimpers and her tightly-squeezed eyes flutter like they're about to open, when her broad forehead smooths like she's trying to think, that's the sign for Monty to nudge his beastie to switch off the tentacles it's got in her; considering all the different girths, speeds, and even twisting motions to choose from, it never fails to get her attention right back to struggling and bouncing and squealing so appealingly. Monty's already wanked twice this session, once just from the spectacle and once in celebration when things hit the two-hour mark without his beastie or his chosen subject breaking down.

When he first picked her out and brought her in here, she didn't try to plead or bargain, she said, "My Dad's going to make you so sorry if you don't let me go right now," in a cool voice. Monty just laughed -- there aren't any other Darnells on the ship -- and added 'removing clothing' to today's test for his beastie. Now he strokes the resurgent bulge in his trousers and wonders if he'll chafe himself if he goes for a third round.

Then the door opens behind him, which it shouldn't without his codekey _and_ his iris scan, and he whirls to face the intruder but they've got surprise on their side. All he catches is a glimpse of dark hair and a blue shirt before a phaser blast fries his nerves and crumples him to the floor. A hypospray bites into his neck and Monty's whirling thoughts abruptly stop.

* * * * *

  
Some time later, Montgomery Scott blinks his eyes open to bright light and disorientation, and realizes he's lying prone on something cold and smooth, naked under the cool air, spread out with his wrists and ankles in slick smooth bonds. He looks down past his own fishbelly stomach and sees a metallic tangle between his thighs.

His beastie. He's in its grip, but only passively, it's been turned off. Someone likely curled the tentacles manually around his wrists, so he should be able to wiggle his hands free in two shakes of the proverbial lamb's tail.

As he jerks at one hand he twists, glancing around, and finds himself looking at his latest subject, her face pale and puffy from crying, her long brown hair down around the shoulders of the saggy red tunic she's wearing as a dress. _His_ tunic, he recognizes, and now he also sees her resemblance to the man beside her: Dr. McCoy, standing there hard-eyed with one arm around her shoulders and Monty's prototype controller in his other hand.

Sure, Monty's a wee bit alarmed by that, but he didn't become Chief Engineer by scaring easily. No one knows how to control his beastie but him, and as soon as he gets himself free these two will see how it is when he's not been caught by ambush. He bares his teeth and tugs, and his hand slides up to the meaty heel of his thumb. Another good jerk should do it--

McCoy hands the remote to the Darnell lass, who bares her teeth in return as she lifts it. Monty's beastie's tentacles start to rise, tightening on his wrists and ankles, unfurling all around him.

All right, Monty thinks, gritting his teeth and jerking against the cool metal coils winding around his body, he might be in a spot of real trouble here.


End file.
